An Answer Has Many Questions
by vanillaparchment
Summary: Harry and Hermione ask many of the same questions. They never expected to end up with the same answers.


_A/N: This piece is partially inspired by 'Lips of an Angel' by Hinder and 'Everything You Want' by Vertical Horizon. I'm not sure this is how I wanted it, but I hope you can let me know what you think! (And this is one of those weird stories that the connection between the title, the summary, and the story is very vague. Feel free to speculate.)_

Harry propped his chin up on his hand, resting his elbow on the squashy mattress. He squinted about in the darkness, staring down at Ginny's sleeping face, at the familiar spray of freckles across her nose, the faintly wrinkled expression marring her features in sleep. He sighed and swung his feet over the side of the bed, rubbing his eyes underneath his glasses.

He stretched, arching his back and locking his arms behind his back. His worn T-Shirt stretched across his chest. As he relaxed, it slumped again, returning to its typically wrinkled state.

Crickets chirped sleepily outside as the breeze jostled a branch across the window. Its shadow crept across the carpet as Harry stumbled blearily into the bathroom, still kneading his eyes. He slid a hand across the wall, fumbling with the light switch. With the other hand, he pushed the door shut and then opened his eyes wide, blinking at his tired reflection in the smudged mirror.

He grunted then, turning on the tap and splashing his face with icy water. He spluttered, looked up, and habitually touched his scar with his hand.

His pale features seemed shadowed, stretched tight. He rubbed his cheek with a hand again, feeling the spiky beginnings of hair on his skin.

If Ginny would stop insisting on… certain activities—maybe he'd get a bit more sleep. He yawned, resting his forehead against the cool mirror and leaving his hand slumped under the tap, relishing the feel of icy water running over his hand.

After a long moment, he drew back and dragged a hand through his hair, shaking his head jerkily and yawning again.

His eyes caught a glimpse of his cell phone, sitting forgotten beside the tap. Ginny couldn't understand why he insisted on keeping one, but the truth of it was, a phone call was much easier than communicating by owl or Floo.

Wearily, he sagged against the wall.

He was tired of having to explain himself. Explanations and lectures given a dozen times over for someone who didn't want to learn.

He closed his fist around his phone, flipped it open, and pressed his thumb against the one, all with his eyes closed. He pressed the receiver against his ear and listened to the ring, moving to sit on the edge of the bath.

Finally, the other end picked up.

"Harry?" her voice was muffled, husky. He felt a faint shiver go through his body. He glanced around and pulled a towel off the rack, wrapping it around his shoulders. Ginny must have fiddled with the cooling charms again.

"Yeah."

There was a pause. He could hear her yawn sleepily, and he could faintly hear the rustle of sheets.

"What is it? Are you sick?" Her voice had cleared slightly, though the words still came slowly, softly, as they always did when she was tired.

He frowned. Did his voice sound that hoarse?

"What makes you think that?"

Another yawn and a faintly exasperated release of breath.

"It's three in the morning, Harry. I can't think of any other reason—"

"I can't do this anymore, Hermione!" he blurted out. Merlin, it felt so good to say it—his confession, and… her name.

"Oh, Harry." Another shiver. What _was_ this? He pulled the towel even more tightly around his shoulders.

"I'm always having to explain myself, always having to say _everything_… otherwise she complains that I don't communicate—but I _do_, I do everything I can—but I never do it _right…_am I just… not cut out for this kind of thing? Am I not understanding? And then when I want to give it a rest, maybe a bit of space, she says I'm ignoring her needs, being selfish or something… how is this supposed to _feel? _This can't be it, can it?"

He sagged again. The words were tumbling from his lips at top speed, and it felt so good—

"I can't say no to her, Hermione, so how in Merlin's name am I supposed to end it?"

There, he'd said it. He wanted this to end.

"You just do it kindly."

"I can't do that!"

"Rubbish." Her correction came gently, firmly. "You are the kindest person I know, Harry. I know you can."

He sighed and slid to the floor, resting his back against the bath.

"But I _don't_. I couldn't even tell her to stop shagging me every night—"

"Ginny is very persistent, I'm sure."

He rubbed his eyes and laughed grimly.

"That's not the half of it. You don't do this to… Darren, do you?"

She laughed softly. And for the first time, he registered how much it hurt to realize how happy she was to talk about her boyfriend.

"Goodness, of course not," she said, audibly stifling another yawn, "I'm afraid we're both too proper for late night shagging sessions…"

A wave of unexplainable relief swept over Harry as he chuckled.

"It's good to hear you laugh again," she said affectionately, "You've been so drowsy lately it's a wonder you've managed to make it this far in training."

"I'm a coward."

"None of that," she chided sternly, "You're also the bravest person I know."

"Better not let Darren hear you say that," he couldn't help but say. She fell silent.

"Sorry." He said hastily, feeling himself blush. "I didn't mean—"

"No," she said wearily. And he could hear the sadness that had crept into her voice. She took a deep breath, and then said slowly, "You're right."

Suddenly, Harry found himself unable to breathe.

"He's everything I ever wanted, Harry. He's intelligent, he's kind, he's ambitious in moderation, he knows what to say and when to say it…"

There was a pause, before Harry managed to croak through a mysteriously swollen throat, "But?"

"But I… I can't love him. I don't know why. He's my ideal partner, and I can't love him like I always dreamed I would."

There was a pause.

"You seemed so happy." Harry found himself croaking, somehow feeling himself reeling in disbelief.

"I thought I was."

Another silence.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I've dumped this whole mess on you—I'm just so _confused._"

"So am I."

Harry stared at the floor, bringing his knees to his chest.

"Harry?"

A shiver again, warmth trickling into his chest and glowing…

"What?" It came in a whisper. His eyes were closed tightly, imagining her face.

"I'm glad you called."

"So am I," he said again, this time forcing himself to speak above a whisper. "Hermione."

Another silence.

"What a pair we make," she commented, with a feeble attempt at a light tone of voice. "My boyfriend is too perfect, and your girlfriend is too wrong for you."

"Yeah, that sums it up."

He was suddenly reminded of the girl in the room next to him, and his stomach squirmed.

"Look, Hermione—I… I should go."

"I know."

Those two words crashed into him like a boulder. He rubbed his eyes and blinked.

"Hermione, I—" and he forced himself to break off.

He was afraid of how easy it felt to finish.

"Good night, Harry."

He swept a hand underneath his eyes and swallowed, suddenly afraid of letting her hang up.

"G'night."

She didn't hang up, letting his feeble farewell dangle in the air.

"Oh, Merlin, Harry," her whisper trembled. "I…"

Suddenly, Harry felt himself shiver. Anticipation and guilt warred within his gut… and he realized with a shock of panic how badly he wanted her to finish.

"Yes, well," her voice was flustered, somewhat broken, "I'm sorry. Good night—Harry."

"Hermione—"

_Click._

His teeth locked as he threw back his head, hitting the bathtub and cringing as the pain jolted through his head.

He clenched his fist, feeling unsteady and shaky.

He pulled himself up on the bathtub edge, his head throbbing. He stumbled over to the sink and turned the tap again.

The sound of rushing water filled his ears. He shook his head, shutting the tap off and moving to turn on the shower.

He threw off his clothes, put his glasses on the sink, and stepped into the searing hot water, ignoring the pain burning across his shoulders as the hot water lashed against them.

He needed to rid himself of this sudden ache her absence left him with. He upended the shampoo bottle over his head, scrubbing furiously at his hair and squinting as the soap stung his eyes.

But her voice overcame the hiss of the water.

_"What a pair we make."_

He gritted his teeth and determinedly shut his eyes, allowing the water to wash off the shampoo.

If only the water could rid him of the pain throbbing in his chest… rid him of that tangible tingle of happiness that swept through him when she said his name…

_"How is this supposed to _feel?"

Harry slammed the water off, snatching his towel off the floor and burying his face in the somewhat stiff cloth.

And in that silence, he realized that he'd gotten his answer.


End file.
